Strawberries
by sugarangelcookies
Summary: Like strawberries, Katniss' mother ripens with sweetness at times, but can also be filled with bitterness and anger. Katniss and Prim seek for their mother's help as they try to deepen the family's bonds. Three-shot, Prim's POV, set before The Hunger Games.
1. Gathering

**A/N: Prim is narrating the story, so it will sound childish at times, along with the way Katniss speaks to Prim.**

* * *

Gathering

* * *

"Wait up!" I call out to Katniss, as she darts into the forest, two woven baskets swinging in her hands. "You know I can't run as fast as you!"

"You can if you try, little duck!" Katniss yells in reply. She still slows down enough so I can catch up to her.

"Where are we going?" I ask, in between puffs of breaths.

"The strawberry patch. Only this time, we'll be going to eat them for ourselves, not to sell. Gale and I happened to shoot down a deer, so we got more than enough money for the week, and it's only Saturday, so we can splurge a little," she replies, grinning one of her rare smiles. I noticed she only smiles around Gale or me and when she's talking about the family.

"What are we going to do with them?"

Katniss' smile grows even bigger. "A lot of things! I know one thing for sure, we'll be eating them right on the spot, little duck!"

"Right on the spot?"

"Right on the spot," Katniss repeats.

I flash back a smile to her as we continue to make our way down to the patch. I don't think I've seen Katniss so happy in a long time.

We make idle chitchat; the topic ranges from Lady to hunting with Gale and to Mama's new customers for the little apothecary she runs in the Seam.

Katniss is the best sister I could ever have. I know I won't ever be as strong or as smart as Katniss, but I still want to have the same virtues as Katniss.

"Here we are," Katniss announces as we approach a small clearing, filled with strawberry plants.

The surroundings are very peaceful. The birds sing together in harmony with the rhythm of the constant trickle from a stream nearby, and the leaves dance with the wind to nature's music. I could stay here all day, if Katniss would let me.

"Once, when I was nine and you were five, Dad took both of us out here. Not to hunt or fish or anything, just to relax and see the world beyond the fence," Katniss says, contentedly.

I sigh, "I wish I could've remembered that, spending the day with you and Dad."

"That's alright, Little Duck. We're here now, right? And I can tell you stories about when we went to the lake with Dad later today, if you would like."

Katniss is always so loving to me. The other kids, they gossip about what a monster she is, scowling the day away. They choose to ignore the fact that I'm her sister, and she's one half of the family I barely have.

"What are you thinking about, Prim?" Katniss asks, bending down to pick a strawberry. She pops it in her mouth.

"Nothing much," I brush off. "Let's go pick some strawberries."

* * *

We begin gathering the strawberries. The berries are small, about the size of a ripe acorn, but are plentiful.

"So, what are we going to do with all these strawberries?" I ask.

"Whatever you want, on one condition," Katniss replies, a smile forming on her lips.

"What is it?" I question eagerly.

"That we make strawberry jam," Katniss tells me.

"Jam?" I repeat. "To put on bread? Isn't that that the kind of stuff merchants eat?"

She nods. "Yes, it is. Only ours will be better, I tell you, since we have freshly picked strawberries and Mom's old recipe."

"Mom's recipe?" I restate cautiously.

"She and Dad would make it sometimes. We had to sell most of it though over time," Katniss explains. She pauses, opens her mouth again as if in mid-thought, and closes it again.

Katniss has always been very nervous about talking about our parents, especially Mom. Even around me. She can be very sensitive at times when the topic involves family, but she always hides it away, supposing weakness is for the cowardly.

I quickly change the topic. "So do you remember how to make the jam?"

I can sense Katniss perk up already. "Kind of, but I want to ask Mom for the official recipe. That way we'll make it just like I remember it, sweet but with the right zest of tartness."

"We'll need a lemon and sugar, as well. Of course, Mom and Dad used to cut out the sugar, as it's incredibly expensive, and would replace it with honey, which we can easily trade for," Katniss continues. "As for the lemon, I suppose we can trade some of our strawberries and a few other things I've hunted. I'll find a way."

Katniss is so persistent, willing to make our family stand together through all the hard times, even if it's only hanging by a thread. If she sets her mind to do something, she'll do it, despite everything around her.

"Anything you want to do with the strawberries?" Katniss asks, looking towards me.

"It would be nice if we could just save a few to eat by themselves, plain and simple. It's getting hotter and hotter outside, so they would be nice after a long, warm day," I answer.

Katniss nods.

We continue picking the strawberries, twisting the stems and pulling the fruits off the runners. We pop a few in our mouth from time to time, relishing the sweet, raw taste of the berries.

"About how many do you have so far?" Katniss calls to me.

"I filled up the entire basket," I reply.

"I believe I have the same amount as you. I think we've got enough."

I stand up, brushing the dirt off of my legs. Katniss does the same and walks towards me. She peers into my basket. "Nice job," she compliments me.

"Should we go get the honey, now?"

"I almost forget, and yes, we should."

* * *

She takes me hand and we begin making our way out of the forest.

The sky is beginning to darken, turning into several vibrant shades of orange. "The sunset looks nice," I comment.

Katniss dips her head back to look at the sky. She turns and smiles at me. "It does," she tells me.

We sneak under the fence and walk through the Seam. "I have to make a short trip back home to get some things to trade with," Katniss says.

I wait outside of our meager house, and she returns with a few squirrels she shot in the peak of the morning.

"Does the Hob ever close?" I ask Katniss.

She shakes her head. "When it gets darker, there are fewer people, of course, but there are always a couple of traders here and there."

The Hob is dark and musty, smelling strongly of coal. Several passersby tip their head towards Katniss, which she returns with a curt nod. We finally approach an old woman with several jars of honey laid out in front of her. "How much do you want for it?" the woman asks brusquely, pointing to the jars.

Katniss holds up her squirrels and the strawberries. "How much are you willing to trade for a jar?"

The woman replies, "I'll take a squirrel and a quart of strawberries."

Katniss hands her a squirrel, and the woman measures out a quart with a rather dirty plastic container.

"Thank you," the woman replies.

"A pleasure to trade."

"I don't think I could've gone here without you, Katniss," I murmur.

"I used to feel the same way Little Duck, I couldn't come here without Dad."

The sky still holds some light, so we quickly head over to the grocer's. The grocer always appreciated some freshly picked strawberries, I learned. Katniss quickly settles a deal of a lemon for yet another quart of strawberries.

We're still left with an entire basket of strawberries. Katniss holds up the lemon and the jar of honey. "I think we made some good barters today," she remarks.

The sky transforms into a nearly complete pitch black, and we trudge home, guided by the stars, clutching onto our trades and harvests.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading! This story will be a three-shot and will deal with talking about Katniss' family, especially her mother, later on. I hope this story was a pleasure to read, and I hope you have a great day!**


	2. Jamming

Jamming

* * *

I wake up at the brink of dawn. From what I can tell from the cracks in the thin curtains, the sky is still a light, blushy pink, dotted with soft oranges. I look over to the other bed in my room, where Katniss sleeps. Her breathing is slow, and her eyes are still closed. I tiptoe out of the room and into the kitchen. The jar of honey rests on the counter, the basket of strawberries sit on the kitchen table, covered with a clean rag, and the lemon sits besides it.

Buttercup approaches me and snuggles into my leg, purring. "Buttercup, we're going to be making jam today. You can watch Katniss and I make it. It'll be fun," I whisper. He replies with a contended purr as I scratch his ears.

Buttercup and I stay there, nestling and watching the sunrise. Soon enough, my mother comes out of her room. "Hello Prim," she murmurs. She looks over to the kitchen. "What's all this for?"

"Katniss and I are going to make jam today," I tell her, containing my excitement.

She pauses in her steady steps across the room. She cautiously says, "What are you doing?"

"Making jam. We need your help, as well, since you actually know how to do it."

Her eyes flicker over to the bedroom Katniss and I share. "Let me go ahead and look for the recipe. I do believe it's in my dresser," she mumbles.

I watch her make her way over to her bedroom, her gait slow and unsure, her arms unusually still, and her fingers twitching.

"Did I do something wrong? I only told her we were making jam, and we needed her help," I mumble to Buttercup, stroking his back.

He looks at me and tilts his head to the side. "If only cats could talk," I grumble out loud to myself.

* * *

My mother walks towards the kitchen, now holding a yellowed piece of paper scribbled with refined black ink. "Here you go, Prim," she says, handing me the recipe. "It's an old recipe from my side of the family. Your father and I used to make it all the time."

I skim the paper. It's written in a delicate cursive, clearly the handwriting of a merchant.

"You have the honey, the strawberries, and the lemon, I see," my mother says. "Is there anything else you need that you don't have?" She points to the recipe.

My mother, sometimes she asks about things she clearly knows, but she questions about them anyways. Over the years, she has attempted to develop a relationship with Katniss and me, but it crumbles anyways. I miss what I can remember of the old her, the mother I had before Dad died. She makes the effort however, and I appreciate it.

"I don't think so," I reply. "That's it."

She smiles, a pained, sad smile, but still a smile, nonetheless. Katniss walks out of her room, stretching and rubbing her eyes. "Hello," she says, through yawns.

Mother gives a short, abrupt wave to Katniss.

Katniss looks over to the paper in my hand. "Oh, that's right, we're making jam today!" she exclaims.

"Katniss, may I talk to you outside alone?" Mother asks, in a hushed voice.

Katniss' brows furrow, and she nods, moving towards the door.

* * *

I eavesdrop, although my conscience tells me I shouldn't.

"Why did you want to make jam suddenly?" I hear my mother mutter angrily.

"I wanted to do something nice with Prim, unlike you. You don't even care about anyone now. All you do is mope around the house," Katniss angrily spits in reply.

"Don't speak like that to me."

"I'll do whatever the hell I want to, Mother. I'm the breadwinner of this family. I'm the head of this household."

"I'm still the mother, and you are still my child."

"Yet you don't do anything to help support us. Please, Mother, all I'm asking for you is just to take part for a day in a family event. Mourning Dad won't make anything better. At least jamming will help remember him, instead of constantly grieving over him."

I hear mother give an angry sigh. "Do it for Prim, at least. She still wakes up with happiness, anticipating the next day. She has a childhood, and I don't want you to ruin it with your bitter outlook on life."

"Fine," my mother replies. "You are right, it's important for Prim to grow and live.

* * *

The pair returns to the kitchen, where they put on smiles. "Are you ready to jam?" my mother asks.

I smile, trying to ignore the conversation between my mother and Katniss replaying in my head, and nod.

"Alright, so first, we need to wash and remove the hulls from the berries," my mother comments. Katniss takes out a simple knife and sets it on the counter. She runs the berries under the slightly rusty faucet for a few seconds and dries them with a scrap of cloth.

Mother picks up the knife and begins cutting out the hulls out of the washed strawberries. "What do I do?" I inquire.

"When mother is done with the berries, you can go ahead and mush them up with this," Katniss replies, holding up a large wooden spoon. "I'll go ahead and measure out the honey."

I nod. We're acting like a real family, now. Not one that has been torn apart and separated.

I watch Katniss as she pours spoonfuls of honey into a simple bowl. "I think we need about fifteen spoons of honey," mother remarks.

My mother hands me the cleaned strawberries in a bowl, and I begin mashing them. In the meantime, she begins cutting part of the lemon and squeezing the juice out of it. I look around the kitchen. Everyone is occupied with their own job, and both of them seem content with the task. When Katniss is done, she begins boiling a pot of water on the moderately corroded stove.

We mix together the water, strawberries, honey, and lemon in the pot.

"Now someone has to wait here and stir the mixture for a bit. We can all trade the job off," mother says.

"Can I try first?" I ask. Mother nods. She watches me as I stir the wooden spoon around the pot, scraping bits off the edges here and there. The jam slowly becomes thicker and thicker, to the point where I can no longer stir it.

"How about Katniss tries now?" I suggest, holding up the spoon.

Katniss grins. "I'll be happy to do so," she responds.

As Katniss stirs, mother and I find jars in the cabinets. "I'm surprised we still have all of these," mother mentions, looking at the six glass containers. We clean them with boiled water.

An hour passes and the jam is ready to can. Looking at the recipe, mother reads, "Now we have to scoop the jam into the jars, and then we'll boil them again, to preserve it."

I learn that jamming was hard work, but I knew the results would pay off. We could sell it for other things, and we could eat it ourselves.

"I'll take it from here," mother says, pointing to the filled jars.

Katniss and I nod and head over to the living room.

"Did you have fun today?" she asks.

I nod. For the first time, I felt like we were truly a family.

* * *

**A/N: School is literally over, we only have one actual day of school left! I'll be spending some time writing, especially my prequel to ****_Unopened Letters_****. I hope this story has been a pleasure to read so far. Thank you for reading, and I hope you all have a wonderful day!**


	3. Consuming

Consuming

* * *

The next morning, I gaze at the jars sitting on the counter. Mother calls, "How about you and Katniss go collect some things to eat while I inspect the jam? We can have a sort of tea party in the afternoon."

I look at Katniss, and she nods. "Prim and I can go to town for bread, and along the way, we can might as well feed Lady at the Meadow," she replies thoughtfully.

My mother gives us a wave with her hand, and we trudge outside. Katniss picks up some squirrels from a basket. "I just went hunting this morning, luckily," Katniss comments, eyeing the three squirrels in her hand. "Should be enough for a loaf of bread." I open the worn down fence where Lady resides. She bleats in response. I loosely attach a leather leash around her neck and snout.

We walk over in town. As Katniss continues to the bakery, I stop in the Meadow to feed Lady.

Stroking her head, I watch her nibble the grass and dandelions. Her milky white fur tickles my fingertips. The feeling is calm and rather therapeutic. We wait, Lady pecking at the grass and I, basking in the warm sunlight. Minutes pass and Katniss finally returns with a loaf of bread.

"I was hoping for some more, but we'll have to do. It is good bread, after all," Katniss informs me. She rips off the edge of bread and offers it to me. I shake my head in reply. She samples it for herself. "A lot better than the tessarae bread we make at home," she mumbles.

* * *

At home, we put away Lady, and we find mother setting up the frugal table in the middle of our house. She lays down a faded, dingy tablecloth, a metal teapot, three carved teacups, a wooden spoon, a knife, and three aluminum plates.

Katniss sets down the bread in the middle of the table, still wrapped up in the cloth she brought with her.

Mother brings out an entire jar of jam. She smiles at Katniss and I. "We haven't had such a lavish meal in so long," she murmurs. Her smile quickly droops, as usual. She's been happier in the last few days than normally.

We sit down at the table. There's always one empty chair. Mother has never moved it, and nor do I want for the chair to move. Sometimes, I like to pretend that Dad is still here, eating with us and watching over us. I wonder if Mother ever does the same. She's always locked up in her own fantasy world, so sometimes I like to think I can too.

Mother pries open the jar while Katniss cuts up the bread. She hands out a piece for everyone. "I'm sure we'll have enough for seconds today," Katniss says, "But for now, I'll just give a piece out." We spread generous amounts of jam on our bread.

"I boiled some tea," Mother mentions, gesticulating towards the teapot. I pour the tea into each of our cups, saving a little in the pot. Mother even adds a touch of leftover honey, since we can't afford sugar, and some of Lady's cream.

"Maybe this was a good idea," Mother remarks. "The jam is so fresh and brings back such good memories."

Katniss nods. I can tell she is biting back hundreds of insults, but she's saving them, somehow, for later or simply for herself.

"How much do you think we should trade or sell to the market?" Katniss asks, pondering.

"I think we should keep at least a jar or two for ourselves. We have about four more," Mother answers.

* * *

The conversation is stiff and awkward, but we are getting along, or at least attempting to. Today, we all feel Dad's absence. It's subtle, but then it crept along as we continued. I never knew him as well as Katniss did, but he was still my father. I remember his hoarse, low laugh and his bright, glistening smile he used to give me everyday. The chair across from me is empty, and it's as if the happiness he carried with him is gone as well. It's been so long since he died, but I still am mourning over him.

I still clean his shaving mirror everyday. It became a daily habit, something I did without thought. It became nearly robotic – it had no meaning behind it. I miss my father so much, yet I have hardly felt his absence until now, when I sit with my all of my family for the first time in a few years.

We merely eat and occasionally sip our tea now; all of our talking has died away. Buttercup makes his way under my chair and purrs by my foot. I smile.

Is this closest my family will ever be? Sometimes, I feel as if I am the one who carries the burden with keeping our family together. Katniss is the breadwinner of our family, but I carry the emotional aspect of our family together. Katniss distrusts my mother, and my mother is simply appalled, creating tension. Some have called me "an innocent angel", "a sweet daughter". My mother, she tries so hard to please us, but she is always sucked back into her vortex of sadness. I have heard Katniss tell Gale I am that reason she refuses to leave home, to run away from this madness. I do genuinely believe that my mother will heal. She is, in fact. She comforts me when nightmares swallow me in my sleep, she is there when I come home from school with Katniss as well, and she is becoming happier.

I have been through too much at this age.

In a few years, I believe that our family will come back together. I gnaw on my piece of jam-covered bread. A sharp sour taste overflows my mouth, only to be replaced by a sweet, pleasant flavor. Maybe our family is like that – tart at first, but eventually, a little worn down and a little wholesome.

* * *

**A/N: That's the end of my little three-shot! Hopefully you enjoyed reading this! The prologue of ****_To No One_****, my prequel to ****_Unopened Letters_****, should come out within at least a week. Thank you for reading this, and I hope you have a great day!**


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